“Explains quite a lot, doesn’t it?” said March.
“It does indeed,” said November. “I think…”
March didn’t hear the rest of the sentence.
Odin turned his head and looked right at him.
His remaining eye was so dark that it reminded March of a black hole. The Cognarchs lived a long, long time and were not replaced unless they happened to be killed in an accident or a battle. Based on what the Custodian had told March about the Final Consciousness at Monastery Station, it was possible that Mr. Odin had been directing the covert operations of the Final Consciousness for over seven hundred years. How many worlds had he destroyed in that time? How many billions of people had he killed? How many countless lives had he destroyed?
March was not prone to flights of fancy or a wandering imagination, but looking at that ancient black eye, he could almost imagine the blood of billions dripping from Odin’s gloved hand.
Mr. Odin smiled a cold smile, winked at him, and turned away.
March frowned. What the hell was that about?
“Captain!” snapped November, his voice jerking March out of his dark thoughts.
He turned just in time to see four men striding towards them. They were familiar, and then the memory burned to the forefront of his thoughts. They were the men that he and November had fought and outwitted back on Exarch Station, the men that Marco Skinner had presumably hired to help take down the Silent Order operatives. Except now their eyes were glassy, their movements stiff. Drugged, they had been drugged, and those sorts of symptoms were common with inhibition-removing drugs…
“Down!” snapped March.
As one, the four men reached into their jackets and yanked out plasma pistols.
November, Siegfried, Northridge, and Alan all reacted at once, throwing themselves out of the way and hitting the deck. Carina didn’t. She stood frozen, gaping at the men, her face twisted up in confusion as if she could not make sense of the sight before her.
March realized that no one had ever shot at her before. Whatever torments the Masters had inflicted on her, they hadn’t included that.
March shoved her out of the way. Carina squawked, turned an ankle in her high heels, and landed with a thump on her side. A volley of plasma bolts sizzled past March, and he twisted, yanking his pistol out and bringing it up to fire.
Then another volley of plasma bolts shot down from the ceiling.
All four men fell dead to the deck, smoking craters in their heads.
March looked up and saw a dozen of the spidery chrome security drones clinging to the vaulted ceiling, the turrets in their bellies rotating.
“Better put away your gun, Captain,” said November.
“That’s a really excellent idea,” said March, sliding his pistol into his right holster. He looked over the others. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No,” said Alan. “Their aim was off.”
“They were drugged,” said November, voice grim. “Something to lower their inhibitions and make them suggestible to commands. Someone told them to take a shot at us, and they did. Poor damned fools.”
“I…I…”
March looked down at saw Carina trying to get to her feet. He grimaced and held out his left hand. She blinked at him a few times, took it, and he yanked her up with a single jerk of his cybernetic limb. Carina caught her balance and stared at him, eyes wide. It made her look breathtakingly lovely. But that loveliness had been forced upon her by the cruelty and greed of the Masters.
March wanted to be back on Calaskar, looking at Adelaide’s face.
“Thank you,” whispered Carina, her cool mask shattered. “They…they would have shot me. I…I don’t…”
“Attention all guests,” boomed an electronically filtered voice. “Violence between the guests of the Masters is prohibited. Any aggressors will be dealt with by deadly force, and their property forfeit to the Masters. Thank you.”
“I…” started Carina.
She blinked and touched her earring again.
“The…the Masters apologize for the disturbance, Captain Harper,” she said, trying to pull her calm mask back into place and mostly succeeding. “They regret the attack.”
“Those men,” said March. “Do you know who they were?” If they had arrived with the Machinists, perhaps March could use this incident to get Odin and his Iron Hands thrown off the station.
“Ah,” said Carina. She listened for a moment. “They were a freighter crew, here on business unrelated to the auction. Even Burnchain Station needs supplies.” She paused. “I…have no explanation, Captain Harper. Perhaps they were agents in the employ of a power hostile to Al-Khazmar.”
“Yes, no doubt,” said March, his mind racing. “The sultan has many enemies.” He looked at the others. “If everyone is ready, we should proceed to the auction.”
“As you desire, Captain,” said Carina. “This way, please.”
Chapter 6: The Bidding Will Now Open
The auditorium was huge.
It had to be. The representatives of nearly ninety different organizations had come to attend the Masters’ auction, and some of those representatives had brought retinues of upwards of twenty people. That meant something like fifteen hundred humans and aliens had come to attend the auction, and some of those representatives hated each other. For that matter, if anyone got too close to the pantherax, the feline aliens might decide their honor had been insulted.
Consequently, the auditorium had been divided into dozens of individual boxes enclosed by velvet ropes. March saw other Guides, all of whom had the same genetically modified beauty as Carina, taking parties of guests to the individual boxes. March’s eyes flicked down to the stage at the other end of the vast room. It was enclosed by thick black curtains.
Somewhere behind those curtains, March knew, waited the canisters of biomorphic fungi. He wondered what would happen if he vaulted the stage and tried to push through the curtains. Likely the Masters’ security would kill him before he even caught his balance.
“This way, Captain,” said Carina. Her voice was calm again, but he saw the tension around her eyes. “Box 49.”
Al-Khazmar was a minor power, so they had been seated in the back third of the auditorium. Carina lifted the rope, and they stepped into their box. Six comfortable-looking chairs awaited them, and a table held refreshments and small glasses of wine. Next to the refreshments waited a device that looked like a large handheld calculator, with a numeric keypad and a small screen. It was a bidding remote. Once the auction started, the guests would use their remotes to enter bids on the canisters.
March looked around the auditorium as the others entered the box. The Machinist delegation and the Oradreans, he noted, had been seated next to each other in the first row.
“Please be seated and enjoy some refreshment,” said Carina. “The auction will begin in fifty-seven minutes. You may socialize with the other guests if you wish, but anyone who is not sitting when the auction begins will be escorted from the auditorium.” She glanced up, and March saw more security drones clinging to the ceiling and the walls. “Additionally, please remember that the Masters’ prohibitions against violence remain in effect.”
Siegfried, Alan, and Northridge all sat down, but March and November remained standing.
They shared a look, and November gave him a shallow nod.
He had seen the problem.
“Lieutenant,” said March, and Alan looked at him. “I saw an Administrator I know from Rustaril, and I need to have a word with him.”
“You’re leaving?” said Northridge, fear flickering over her expression.
“Not for long,” said March. “But that Administrator’s presence could complicate our mission, and I need to talk to him. We’ll be back in five minutes. Carina, can you stay here and answer any questions?”
“Certainly,” said Carina. “But remember that the doors will be sealed in fifty-six minutes, and you must be in your seats by then.”
“R
ight,” said March, and he jerked his head at November. They left the box, climbed up the aisles, and returned to the gleaming concourse with its shops of murder and torture and vice. Most of the crowd near the doors had passed into the auditorium.
“There’s no Administrator from Rustaril you recognize, is there?” said November.
“No,” said March. “But we have a problem.”
November nodded. “You came to the same conclusion that I did.”
“Yeah,” said March. “Either Northridge, Alan, or Siegfried is a Machinist agent.”
“Almost certainly,” said November. “Getting attacked at Exarch Station? Simply a hazard of our line of work. But Marco Skinner’s presence here, and the attack from the same group of men? That is too much of a coincidence.” March glanced down the concourse to where the ambush had taken place, but the bodies had already been cleared away. “No. Someone has been informing the Machinists of our movements.”
“Mr. Odin winked at me, too,” said March, rubbing his jaw with his hand of flesh.
“Did he, now,” said November.
“He was looking right at me,” said March.
“Do you think he recognized you?” said November.
“He might have,” said March. “We never spoke when I was still an Iron Hand. But there was never any need to speak. The hive mind made its wishes known, and we acted. But he might know who I am.”
“You have inconvenienced the Machinists often enough that they might realize who you are,” said November.
“Yeah,” said March. “Well, you have the eidetic memory. Siegfried, Alan, and Northridge. Do you know which one of them is a Machinist agent?”
November paused, his eyes falling half-closed as he thought.
“Unfortunately, no,” said November. “There are strong arguments to be made for any of them, but equally strong counterarguments. If you had to guess, which one would you suspect?”
“Melissa Northridge,” said March at once. “That would be my gut feeling. Her whole story about how an Iron Hand murdered her father in front of her? It seems contrived.”
“It could be true,” said November. “The Iron Hands do operate that way.”
March knew it well.
“It could be true,” said March. “And the degree of emotional instability she shows…that could be consistent with childhood trauma, but it also might be an act. She could just be a superb actress. Or exactly as she appears.” He shook his head. “I wish there had been a chance to check her story with Censor.”
“I’m afraid we are out of reach of the Kingdom’s tachyon-entanglement relays,” said November. “Myself, I would lean towards Lieutenant Alan. He is the most obvious candidate.”
“Agreed,” said March. “Just by having an affair with Northridge, he’s left himself open to coercion. He must know that when we get back to Calaskar, his superiors will find out about it. The Machinists might have coerced him, or he might have made a deal with them to save his career and marriage.”
“It is also possible,” said November, “that he might plan to kill all of us to cover his tracks.”
March frowned. “You think he’s that ruthless?”
“It is a short step from treason to murder,” said November, “and he would have the skills to do it. He might even try to kill us in our sleep and take the Tiger back to Calaskar.”
“He doesn’t know how to pilot a starship.”
“He says he doesn’t know how to pilot a starship,” said November. “The truth might be quite different.”
“True,” said March.
November shrugged. “But the counterarguments are equally strong. To be blunt, Lieutenant Alan doesn’t seem all that intelligent. I doubt he would have advanced much further than his current rank in any event. Most likely he did not consider the consequences of an affair with Dr. Northridge, but simply wanted to sleep with her because he found her attractive and she was willing.”
“That’s usually the reason,” said March.
“It is for me, anyway,” said November. “What about Siegfried?”
“I don’t know,” said March. “She seems the least likely. The Agotanni Pirates almost killed her, and the only reason she came along was to restore her reputation and her post at the University of Mercator. If I hadn’t stumbled on the Howard Carter, she would have died of her wounds. If she’s a deep-cover Machinist agent, that’s a hell of a setup.” He rubbed his jaw again. “I doubt she would have been recruited after that, either. She spent all her time in the hospital on Calaskar Station until she was well enough to travel.”
“I would agree,” said November. “I think the most likely possibilities are Northridge and Alan…though it could be Siegfried as well, and we might have simply overlooked something.”
“Agreed,” said March.
“It is also possible,” said November, “that one of them is under the control of a Wraith device.”
March nodded. “From what I’ve seen, the people under control of a Wraith device usually don’t realize it and rationalize their actions to themselves.”
“I had heard Project Exorcism was working on a mobile detector to pick up the quantum entanglement effect,” said November, “but the final design wasn’t finished. I wish we had one along with us to settle the question.”
“As do I,” said March. For a moment he wished Cassandra Yerzhov and her Eclipse prototype had accompanied them to Burnchain Station instead of Dr. Northridge. Yet he was also glad she had stayed behind. Cassandra would have been just as horrified as Northridge at the holograms in the brothel, and March liked Cassandra a lot better than Northridge. “Though if anyone was under the control of a Wraith device, it’s more likely to be me than you.”
November raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“Eidetic memory,” said March. “You remember everything. If the Wraith device instructed you to forget your actions, I don’t think it would work. You’d realize what had happened.”
“To be fair,” said November, “I am in no rush to test that theory.”
“No,” said March. “And I doubt a Wraith device is involved in this. They’re rare, and the Machinists have enough advantages here that they don’t need to use one. They just have to set up a bidding war between themselves and the Oradreans, and one of them will walk away with the canisters.”
“Agreed,” said November. “So how shall we play this?”
March grimaced. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to see who wins the auction first.” He hesitated. “And we shouldn’t share our plans with the others.”
“No,” said November. “Not until we know which of them we can trust.”
“We should get back,” said March. “Any longer and the others will start to get suspicious, or they’ll send Carina to track us down.”
November nodded, and they headed back into the auditorium. The crowds had mostly seated themselves, and a quiet rumble of conversation filled the vast space. March saw one Iron Hand standing guard at the side of the Machinists’ box, and he felt the Iron Hand’s gaze as he strode down the aisle. Then again, the Iron Hand was likely keeping watch on the entire room for any threats to the Cognarch.
March and November returned to their box. Siegfried, Alan, and Northridge looked up from their chairs. Northridge looked frightened, Siegfried worried, and Alan regarded everything with calm equanimity.
“Success?” said Alan.
“No,” said March. “I thought we could set up a bidding war between ourselves and the Rustari, try to claim the weapon that way, but the Administrator wasn’t interested.”
“Yes, that’s probably for the best,” said Siegfried. “The sultan doesn’t want us to waste his money.” Her tone made it clear that she didn’t believe his story.
“That would be tragic, wouldn’t it?” said March. He sat in one of the chairs. It was far more comfortable than he would have liked and deep enough that standing up in haste would be a challenge. At least it had a good view of the stage.
&
nbsp; The minutes ticked down towards the auction. They sat in tense silence, March trying to watch everything at once. Northridge and Alan talked quietly, and together with Siegfried, they started eating and drinking some of the refreshments. Both March and November abstained. The food looked delicious, truth be told, but it would be far too easy for someone to slip a drug into the refreshments.
If one of his companions was a Machinist agent, they might have dosed the food while March and November had been talking on the concourse.
At last, the lights flashed, and an electronically modified voice announced that the auction would begin in five minutes. March reached for the table and claimed the bid remote, idly wondering what would happen if he did manage to win the auction on behalf of the sultan of Al-Khazmar.
Five minutes later the lights flashed again, the doors closed, and again the modified voice boomed out.
“Honored guests of the Masters of Burnchain Station,” said the voice, “we welcome you to Burnchain Station and this exciting opportunity. As you already know, recently some of the Masters’ business associates had the good fortune to stumble across a relic from the Fifth Terran Empire.” Siegfried let out a soft snort of disgust. March hoped she kept her reactions under control. “Upon investigation, our scientists determined that the relics were nine canisters of intact biomorphic fungi.”
The curtains on the stage opened, revealing a large, empty space, and a shimmering hologram appeared, showing a montage of the devastation wreaked by the biomorphic fungi weapon in ancient times.
“As you can see firsthand,” said the voice, “the biomorphic weapon is exceedingly powerful. Any state or organization that holds it will have an overwhelming advantage over its rivals. One canister, properly configured, can wipe out the entire population of a world, or even reconfigure the world’s ecology to meet your wishes. As this is an assembly with many enemies, the Masters are certain that you can imagine the possibilities inherent in the possession of such a potent weapon, even if only as a bargaining chip.”
The curtains at the back of the stage rippled, and four Guides walked out, two female, two male. The women looked much the same as Carina, at least from a distance. The men wore crisp black suits and looked sleekly muscular. The four Guides led a wheeled metal cart to the center of the stage, and the cart held nine metal canisters about the size of March’s forearm.
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